


How I Spent My Summer Vacation, by Doctor Rodney McKay

by lamardeuse



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-07
Updated: 2010-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-09 08:38:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn't sure exactly when he'd plunged over the edge of the Niagara Falls that was John Sheppard's goofy charm, but plunge he had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How I Spent My Summer Vacation, by Doctor Rodney McKay

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Military/Intelligence zine.
> 
> Thanks to Femme for her generous encouragement, to Jane and T'Pri for their editing skill, and to Bluespirit for her absolutely gorgeous artwork.

“Trust me,” Sheppard said.

And that was Rodney’s first clue that he was about to venture into the mysterious territory known as Sheppard’s World, otherwise known as the place on the maps where they wrote Here There Be Dragons. 

After saving Atlantis – and by extension, Earth – yet again, they were all finally being granted vacation time.  Not much, mind you, but after what they’d been through in the past two and a half years, eight days of absolute leisure seemed like a piece of eternity.  The question now, though, was how to spend that time. 

Rodney was taking a day out to see his sister, and that left a whole week to plan.  When he began to give it serious consideration, though, the possibilities rose up and overwhelmed him.  Should he see the cultural highlights of Europe, or sit at the top of a Tibetan mountain and contemplate life, or snorkel on the Great Barrier Reef, or spend a week on a Cuban beach eating his face off and doing absolutely nothing?

He did the only sensible thing, which was to make a list with weighted values assigned to the pros and cons of the various options.  And that was when things started to get complicated, because once he’d inputted all the information, he realized that all of his choices…well, sucked.

Spending a week looking at a bunch of crumbling ruins and artifacts that were, for the most part, a few measly centuries old?  No longer impressive.

Going to Tibet to contemplate the fragility and transience of human existence?  He might as well stay in his own bed on Atlantis to do that; he’d certainly save himself a hell of a climb.

The Great Barrier Reef?  He lived on a planet that was 90% water.  Also, sharks.

And Cuba?  Sunburn, sand everywhere and large amounts of alcohol to forget his troubles. 

Actually, Cuba wasn’t sounding too…no.  Ultimately, that wouldn’t work either; it would just feel like a waste, somehow, of precious time and brain cells.

He was preparing to tear out the rest of his hair when Colonel Sheppard bounded into the lab with a grin that could melt Antarctica, and really, it was unfair that Sheppard was that attractive to ninety-nine percent of the female population, because Rodney was _so much smarter_ than he was.

“You figured out where you’re going on your vacation yet?  Because if you haven't, I have an idea,” Sheppard told him without ceremony.

Rodney lifted his chin.  “Why wouldn’t I have come up with anything yet?”

Sheppard only raised an eyebrow.  Damn him.

“I suppose you have the perfect plan for my leisure time, then?” Rodney demanded.

Sheppard grinned again, and Rodney valiantly fought the effects of the Sheppard Charm set to stun.  “I do, in fact,” he said.  “Not just for you, though.  For us.”

Rodney stared at Sheppard, mouth open slightly; for several seconds he was only aware of the sound of his own breathing.  Yes, he was a genius, but he hadn’t been expecting that _at all_.  “Um,” he said finally.  “Us?”

Sheppard made a circling motion with a finger.  “Us.  The team.  You, me, Teyla and Ronon.  I thought it might be nice for us to spend some time together when someone isn’t actively trying to kill us.  And it’ll be a chance for Teyla and Ronon to see Earth.”  When Rodney opened his mouth to speak, Sheppard held up a hand as if to forestall objections.  “Only four days.  That’ll still give you time to visit with family and friends.”

Rodney frowned.  “Have you mentioned this to Teyla and Ronon yet?”

Sheppard nodded.  “They thought it was a great idea.  But if you’ve got other plans, we could always – ”

Rodney shook his head.  “No, no, I mean yes, I’d like to.  Go.  That’s fine.  I mean, thank you.”

This time it was Sheppard’s turn to stare.  Rodney cleared his throat.  “Where are we going?”

Sheppard waggled his eyebrows.  “You’ll see.”

Rodney glared at him.  Sheppard’s smile only broadened.

“Trust me,” he said confidently.  “You’re gonna love it.”

  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

And at first, Rodney had to admit that confidence had worked.  The last few months had been a constant roller coaster ride filled with desperate, life-or-death choices, and the prospect of leaving the decisions up to someone else was a welcome change. 

That led to the revelation that he’d come to rely on Sheppard to provide the plans and schemes when – due to either fatigue or excessive panic – his own brain failed to produce them.  In a broader sense, he’d come to rely on Sheppard, period.  When he needed someone to get him back on track, when he needed someone to remind him not to take everything so goddamned seriously, or when he simply needed an evening of mindless entertainment and popcorn, it seemed that Sheppard was always there.  The thought was both comforting and unsettling; he wasn’t used to having that kind of support from another human being.  And getting used to it might be dangerous, not only because Rodney did not have the world’s greatest track record when it came to interpersonal relationships, but because Sheppard had an alarming habit of trying to sacrifice himself for the greater good, and what the hell would Rodney do then?

He allayed his fears by reminding himself that Sheppard had also come to rely on him, to a degree that Rodney now felt it his responsibility to put himself in harm’s way with nauseating regularity, so that by this time it was almost as likely that Sheppard would be the one left with a bowlful of popcorn and no one to share it with, and…wait a minute, where was the silver lining in that scenario, precisely?

All of this convoluted logic and semi-circular reasoning was just further proof that Rodney _desperately _needed a vacation, though whether he needed one with Colonel Sheppard was another matter.  Because the most frightening thing of all that had happened lately (well, aside from the parts where he nearly got killed) was that Sheppard was starting to look good to him.  And not even good as in _anything looks good because I haven’t had sex in so long I think I’m dating my right hand_.  Good as in empirically, objectively, Christ-he-really-is-hot type good.  He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d plunged over the edge of the Niagara Falls that was John Sheppard’s goofy charm, but plunge he had, and now his only concern was that he not make a total fool of himself before one or both of them died horribly, because embarrassment on that scale would actually be a worse fate than life-sucking vampires or partially destroyed solar systems.

Still, though, Sheppard had wanted a vacation with the team, and considering Rodney had never been asked to share so much as an overnight trip with anyone not related to him by blood, he wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity, no matter how hazardous it might be to his sanity.

Just how hazardous it was going to be hit him squarely between the eyes the afternoon they were due to fly out of Colorado.  The Air Force had considerately provided them with one of the general staff’s toys, a fully tricked out Gulf Stream, which was sitting on the tarmac in all its sleek, aerodynamic perfection, ready to obey their commands.  Or rather, the pilot they’d been assigned was ready; this, Rodney reminded himself, was no puddlejumper, purring under the feather-light touch of Sheppard’s deft hands.

It had just occurred to him that thinking about Sheppard’s hands wasn’t a good way to survive four days of being in close proximity with him when Sheppard walked out of the hangar and onto the tarmac flanked by Ronon and Teyla.  They were all wearing Earth-style civvies, which was a more unusual sight on the others, but Rodney’s eye was inexorably drawn to Sheppard.  He was dressed in a crisp, short-sleeved Oxford shirt that exposed the dark, silky-looking hair on his arms and jeans that appeared to be getting intimate with every part of him they touched:  the backs of his calves, the hollow of his knees, the taut bow of his thighs, the curve of his—

_Oh God_, thought Rodney, _I am so screwed._

It was like the Matrix in reverse, because no three people should look that gorgeous in everyday tourist wear – Ronon was wearing an orange Hawaiian shirt, for Chrissakes – but the incongruity was the thing that made you take notice.  At least that was what Rodney told himself.

And here was Rodney McKay, savior of the galaxy several times over, greatest mind of his generation, standing here in his _Don’t Hate Me Because I’m Brilliant_ t-shirt and a pair of ill-fitting jeans he’d hastily bought at the Colorado Springs Target yesterday that didn’t hug anything but his love handles.

“Ready?” Sheppard said, grinning under the twin mirrors of his aviator sunglasses, and Rodney may have hated him a little in that moment, because _so, so screwed._

Smiling tightly, he waved the beautiful people toward their beautiful plane.  “Let the good times roll.”

  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“San Francisco?” Rodney demanded of no one in particular, staring out the window of the Gulf Stream.   The distinctive spans of the Golden Gate stretched across the bay, the towers glittering in the setting sun.

Sheppard leaned in to rubberneck, startling the hell out of Rodney.  “San Francisco,” he confirmed.

Rodney frowned.  “And  - why San Francisco, may I ask?”  He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. 

“Why not?” Sheppard said, still maddeningly confident. 

Rodney turned to look at him.  This close, he could make out the flecks of brown in Sheppard’s eyes, levels of complexity he’d never noticed before. 

Sheppard’s tongue darted out to wet his lips.  “Try to keep an open mind, Rodney,” he said, voice pitched for his ears only. 

“I’ll have you know I’m very – ” Rodney spluttered; Sheppard’s raised eyebrow brought him up short.  “Yes,” he mumbled finally, “all right.”

Sheppard favored him with a lopsided smile; at this proximity Rodney found it – well, to be honest, it was –

Well, come to think of it, he didn’t particularly want to be honest about it.

Apparently satisfied, Sheppard straightened and nodded.  “I’m going back to the cockpit.  We should be landing in about twenty.”  And with a final casual pat to Rodney’s shoulder, he was gone again.

  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

All right.  So.  San Francisco. 

Rodney tried not to be disappointed, but it was difficult considering he’d never been particularly enamored of California, not even when he was living here.  Mind you, as they drove through streets already filling up with Friday night revelers, Rodney observed that the people in these crowds were less aggressively beautiful than their southern cousins.  There was more variety, fewer implants, and a refreshing cornucopia of clothing styles and colors. 

He wondered when he’d acquired an appreciation of diversity, since he knew he’d never bothered much with it before.  One thing was certain, though:  Ronon and Teyla would blend into this landscape without any trouble.  He assumed that was one of the reasons Sheppard had picked this particular destination.

Their limo pulled up to a palatial bed and breakfast imbued with the stately grace of a previous era.  Rodney had expected Sheppard to be more of a Holiday Inn guy, but when he shot him a questioning glance Sheppard only shrugged.

“I let one of the pencil pushers at the SGC make the arrangements.  One of my only requests was that she give us the full San Francisco experience, with the emphasis on fun.” 

“Please tell me she didn’t book us on a tour of Alcatraz,” Rodney breathed.

Sheppard’s expression turned wry.  “I told her we’d seen enough prison cells.”

“Thank God,” Rodney said emphatically.  Sheppard rolled his eyes and pulled open the heavy oak door, waving the rest of his team inside.

Rodney walked in, looked up, and stopped dead in his tracks.

The place resembled nothing so much as an expensive late Victorian brothel.  There was dark mahogany wood paneling almost everywhere, and florid blood-red wallpaper everywhere else.  Persian carpets adorned the floors and huge gold-framed paintings covered the walls.  A bronze carving of a woman holding a lamp topped the newel post of the majestic staircase, and an elaborate chandelier hung over their heads.

“Oh,” he breathed, because there wasn’t much else he could say without offending Sheppard, and he was determined to keep an open mind.

“Wow,” Sheppard murmured, coming up beside him and halting too.  “It’s kind of – early bordello, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” said Rodney noncommittally. 

“Oh, well,” Sheppard said, setting down his pack, “At least we can be pretty sure the beds will be soft.”

  


 

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“My room is named after an opera,” Rodney said as he walked into Sheppard’s room. 

“All the rooms are named after operas, Rodney,” Sheppard replied patiently.  “Don’t feel singled out.”

Rodney wasn’t listening by this point, however, because he was looking – all right, staring – at Sheppard, who was currently sprawled over his queen-sized canopy bed in a way that could only be called pornographic.  At least to Rodney it was pornographic, because Sheppard looked loose-limbed (which was not an unusual look on him) and vulnerable (which was).  He looked – Christ, he looked as tired as Rodney felt.  And there was no earthly reason why that should be such a turn-on, but it was.  Rodney was betting that very few people got to see that much of Sheppard, the part of him that was human and breakable.  He wasn’t sure why Sheppard was letting him see it now.

“Rodney.”

“Hm?  What?” Rodney barked, starting guiltily.

“I said, I bet your room isn’t this pink.”

Rodney blinked and took in his surroundings for the first time.  “Uh.  No,” he said, because wow, yes, this room was really pink.  Rooms, actually; like this one, Rodney’s was a spacious suite with a full sitting room and a marble fireplace.  It was over the top, but at least it was luxurious, and the TV was equipped with cable.  “Mine’s kind of baby blue.”

“Matches your eyes,” Sheppard murmured, still flat on his back and staring up at the canopy.

Rodney stood there, stunned.  “Wh—”

Sheppard sighed and sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.  “Okay,” he said, clapping his hands together, “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.  Our hosts say there’s a great Indian restaurant not too far from here.  What do you say we introduce Ronon and Teyla to the joys of curry?”

Rodney opened his mouth to say that there was usually a lot of citrus in Indian food, then closed it again at the tired look in Sheppard’s eyes.  God knew there had to be _something _there he could eat, and anyway, he’d brought several Epipens with him. 

“Sounds good,” Rodney said instead, enjoying the small smile that Sheppard bestowed only on him.

  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

Rodney was burping up chicken tandoori and mango ice cream by the time they hit the dance club, which was not a terribly good way to hit a dance club.  However, since his inclination to dance was directly proportional to his desire to have his nuts crushed in a vise, he was perfectly happy to gravitate over to the bar and order himself an extra large chocolate martini. 

Ronon and Teyla, on the other hand, being accustomed to food so spicy it could tan the hide off a water buffalo, jumped right into the fray, joining the crowd of extremely stylish dancers and outclassing the hell out of them.  Rodney knew he was getting drunk when he found himself watching them with a fondness appropriate to a doting uncle, but goddammit, they were the most beautiful couple here, intensely alive in a way that none of the other people in this place would understand. 

He looked over and was surprised to find Sheppard watching their teammates with the same indulgent expression he imagined was plastered to his own face.  After a moment, Sheppard realized he was being watched and lifted an inquiring eyebrow in Rodney’s direction.  Rodney considered speaking, then decided he had nothing to say.  Instead, he raised his glass; Sheppard copied the gesture before they both silently toasted the dancers on the floor.

  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

They staggered back to the bed and breakfast around one a.m., at which point Ronon and Teyla may have helped drag their drunken asses up the stairs.

“God, I’m getting old,” Rodney murmured as they reached Sheppard’s suite.  “I used to be able to drink much more than that.”

“Shhh,” Sheppard shushed.  “You’ll get us kicked out.” 

“Yes, I’m sure you’ll be devastated if that happens,” Rodney quipped.  “Kicked out of your lovely pink room.”

“It’s _rose_!” Sheppard hissed.  “I read about it in the hotel directory.”

Rodney only rolled his eyes at that, which caused the hallway to spin dangerously.  Teyla exchanged glances with Ronon.  “I do not know if it is safe to leave them on their own.”

Ronon licked his lips – he’d really, really enjoyed dancing with Teyla, Rodney could tell – and gave each of them a measuring look.  “They’re not that drunk.”

“Excuse me, we’re still _here_,” Rodney snapped.

Sheppard chose that moment to reassert his authority.  Straightening and patting Ronon on the arm, he said, “You’re right.  Thanks for the help, guys, but I think we can take it from here.”  He smiled at both of them.  “You having a good time so far?”

Ronon and Teyla both answered heartily in the affirmative, and the next thing Rodney knew they were gone, retreating down the hall to the stairs leading to the third floor and their suites. 

“You think they’ll end up in the same room tonight?” Rodney asked, trying to elbow Sheppard and missing him completely.

“Maybe,” Sheppard said, shrugging.  Rodney noted the shrug was much more lopsided than usual; from this he theorized Sheppard was a lot drunker than he let on. 

“Hm,” Rodney said profoundly.  “Well, I think I’ll hobble off to my own room now, drink a gallon of water and pass out.”   He turned to go, but was stopped by Sheppard’s soft words.

“Hey, uh.  _Bullitt_’s on.”

Rodney frowned; Sheppard waved a hand.  “You know?  _Bullitt_?  Steve McQueen?”

“And you think because we’re actually _in _San Francisco we should watch one of the more boring movies of the 1960s?”

“_Bullitt_ is not a boring movie!”

Rodney only rolled his eyes again, which, whoa, stupid idea.  Fuming, Sheppard fumbled the key in the lock and shoved the door open.  “Fine.  I’ll prove it to you.  Get in there.”  He pointed to emphasize his command, and after four extra-large martinis and a near-paralyzing wave of nausea there was just no sound physiological reason why that should be turning Rodney on right now.

As he shuffled into the softly lit suite and watched Sheppard turn on the TV, denim hugging the perfect curve of his ass as he bent over, Rodney decided that this was conclusive proof that the universe hated him.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

Rodney awoke a little after eight the next morning with his tongue cemented to the roof of his mouth and his eyes feeling like they’d been scooped out with a melon baller and rolled around in the sand for a while before being haphazardly jammed back into his skull. 

And then he realized there was a warm, pliant body spooned up behind his where he lay, and a warm, strong arm draped over his chest.  Summoning every scrap of self-control he had, he managed to remain motionless while he assessed the situation.  Pink bed.  Pink room.  Infomercial for some kind of revolutionary new exercise machine droning softly on the television. 

And he still seemed to have all of his clothes on.  Thank God for small mercies.

Continuing to breathe normally, he bent his head to look at the arm that held him.  Yep, that was Sheppard’s, all right; he knew it by the dark hair and the wide, pale swath cut through his tan by the now-absent wristband.  The flesh, stripped of all protection, looked so soft, so uncharacteristically Sheppard, that Rodney sucked in a startled breath at the sight of it.  Before he could stop it, his hand had moved of its own volition, rising toward its goal, fingertips brushing over hair that was as silky as he’d imagined –

Sheppard’s body jerked sharply, and Rodney leapt from the bed like a startled cat, heart racing fast enough to beat the _Daedalus _in hyperspace.

For a few seconds neither of them said anything.  Rodney stumbled over to the TV and shut it off, then made a show of looking out the window and taking in the picturesque view of the park below, which he really couldn’t give a damn about.

“Guess you were right,” Sheppard said scratchily.

Rodney’s stomach lurched as he turned toward him with all the enthusiasm of a man facing a firing squad.  “About what?”

Sheppard propped himself up on an elbow and waved his free hand at the now-silent TV.  “_Bullitt_ is a boring movie.”

“Well, I don’t want to say I told you so,” Rodney said mildly, one corner of his mouth twitching, “but – ”

“ – you will anyway,” Sheppard finished for him.  Rodney looked up and met hazel eyes that were far too open and filled with – what?  What the hell was that?  It was similar to the look he’d given Ronon and Teyla last night, but was it more than just simple camaraderie?  Rodney might be the most brilliant mind of his generation, but even he acknowledged that there were some things he knew absolutely nothing about. 

“I’d, uh,” he murmured, pointing toward the door, “I’d better go and – ”

“Yeah,” Sheppard said with a trace of weariness, the whatever-it-was that had been in his eyes fading.  “Lots to do today.  Better get cracking.”

And fifteen minutes later, when Rodney was standing naked in his shower, it occurred to him that if he’d had the regular sized martinis last night, he might have had enough brain cells remaining to have landed himself in Sheppard’s shower instead.

“Oh, who are you kidding?” he huffed aloud, reaching for the bottle of – it figured – rose shampoo.

  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“Quit pouting, Rodney,” Sheppard growled under his breath.

Rodney shot a glance back up the stairs at Teyla and Ronon, who were out of earshot.  “I’m not pouting.”

“Look, I thought Teyla should have the presidential suite because –”

“ – she’s a girl.”

Sheppard scowled.  “I was going to say _because she’s the leader of her people_, but you can put this on a sixth-grade level, sure.”

  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

  
“I don’t care about that,” Rodney said.  It had been kind of nice eating breakfast together in Teyla’s palatial suite, and they’d resolved to do it every morning.  The fact that it wasn’t his room just meant that he didn’t have to worry about making it presentable.

“Then _what_?”

Rodney opened his mouth, closed it.  “How come Ronon gets a fridge?”

A pair of meaty hands landed on Rodney’s shoulders, scaring the shit out of him.  “So I can keep the beer cold,” Ronon rumbled in his ear.  “And if you’re nice, I might let you have a bottle.”

“Oh, how generous of you,” Rodney sneered. 

“Now, children, play nicely,” Teyla said, with a smile that was much closer to a full-out grin than her typical Mona Lisa impersonation.  Rodney might not be an expert on human nature, but even he could tell she’d gotten laid last night.  “I, too, would like some more of that excellent brown beer we drank at the restaurant,” she added.  “Perhaps we could buy some today?”

“There’s definitely shopping in our future,” Sheppard promised, holding the front door open for them.  “It’s all part of the guided tour of the city.  Our transportation’s waiting right outside.”

Rodney sighed.  “As long as there’s food in our future.”

Sheppard turned to stare at him.  “Rodney, you just ate.”

“Never stopped him before,” Ronon muttered. 

Rodney walked out the door, his attention momentarily occupied with glaring at Ronon.  “You’re a fine one to t – oh, my God,” Rodney gasped, because he’d just now noticed the shiny red fire engine parked in front of the building.

He whirled to face Sheppard, who was grinning and practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.  “Cool, huh?” he said.  “It’s a 1955 Mack, and it’s all ours for the day.”

Rodney narrowed his eyes at him, and Sheppard treated him to one of those goofball, disingenuous shrugs.  And that was when he began to suspect that the Colonel had had a lot more to do with planning this trip than he was letting on.  Because there was no way that some pencil pusher at the SGC knew how much John Sheppard would love riding around San Francisco in a vintage fire truck.

The fact that Rodney _did _know should have worried him a lot more than it did.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

The fire engine, Rodney discovered  (or rather, Sheppard discovered, since he was the one who actually engaged their guide in conversation) usually took about a dozen tourists on ninety-minute tours of Fisherman’s Wharf, the Golden Gate and Sausalito.  Rodney didn’t even want to think about how much it would cost to rent it for the day like this, and then he couldn’t help himself and did some calculations, and wow, was the USAF really _that _generous?

But then, he supposed that the saviors of the galaxy several times over were entitled to a little red-carpet – make that red-engine – treatment.  Furthermore, after a couple of hours of being gawked at by pedestrians as they clanged up and down the steep hills of San Francisco, Rodney thought he’d try at least acting the part.  And so the next time he spotted one of their unknowing fans – a blond girl in pigtails and a Hilary Duff t-shirt – he treated her to a passable imitation of the royal wave.

He turned to bestow the same to the opposite side of the street and ran afoul of Sheppard’s raised eyebrow.  He stopped abruptly, hand frozen mid-wave.

“What?” he blustered.  “It’s not as though we’re likely to get a ticker tape parade anytime soon.  I figure I might as well make the most of the opportunity.” 

Sheppard’s gaze held his for a moment longer, and then Rodney was startled to hear Sheppard produce a warm, dry chuckle that swiftly blazed into a full-out belly laugh.

And then he started waving, too. 

  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

They ended up back in the artsy Hayes Valley district, where Teyla discovered the joy of a charge card in shops that catered to the Birkenstock I’m-so-ethnic crowd.  The dreadlocked girl behind the counter – they went to six stores and there was always a dreadlocked girl behind the counter – usually eyed Ronon with more than passing interest, though whether they wanted to sleep with him or discover his grooming secrets, Rodney couldn’t tell.  Teyla would bare her teeth at each one of them and then proceed to drop a couple of hundred dollars on wraparound skirts, batik blouses, green tea and recycled glass candleholders – just how many cargo bays did she think were on the _Daedalus_, anyway? – and walk out of the store with even more crap to pile on the beleaguered fire engine.  When Ronon started to complain of being peckish (and yes, of course, by all means cater to the man with the arsenal in his hair), they finally started looking for a restaurant, and ended up at a cheery hole-in-the-wall soul food place that served possibly the best Southern fried chicken that could be found outside of the actual South.  They ordered a pitcher of Coke and enough chicken, pulled pork, catfish, collard greens, fried okra and mac and cheese to choke a Texan, and Rodney was stunned when it finally hit him that he was enjoying the hell out of himself.

“You call it _what_?” Sheppard demanded, incredulous.  It was getting much easier to make him laugh, and Rodney found he was enjoying that even more than the food.

“Kraft Dinner,” Rodney said around a mouthful of greens.  “We eat more of it per capita than you do; we should be allowed to call it whatever we want.”

“You’re telling me everyone in Canada calls it that?” Sheppard asked around his own mouthful of the substance in dispute.

“Yep.  It’s even printed on the boxes.” 

“It is not!”

“Is too,” Rodney countered.  “And just to prove it I’ll order you a case and get them to send it along on the next cargo run.”

“That’s worse than the zed,” Sheppard muttered under his breath, shaking his head.  “And spelling everything like the British.”

“We have our own unique Canadian spelling system, thank you very much!” Rodney flared.  “It’s…halfway between the, uh…the British system and, ah, the – the American system,” he finished, deflating.

Sheppard walloped him with his smug grin, and Rodney sighed and drank half his Coke in one gulp.  As he did, Rodney caught Ronon and Teyla watching them both with what could best be termed grudging affection.

Wonderful.  Instead of inspiring affection while looking gorgeous and sexy, he and Sheppard were apparently at their most compelling when they had strands of pork lodged between their teeth.  Oh, well; he supposed it was fitting, somehow.

He glanced at Sheppard, who peeked at him from under his eyelashes and smirked in a way that might have made Rodney’s knees a little weak if he weren’t already sitting down.

_Two more days_, Rodney reminded himself.  _You only have to make it through two more days._

He stubbornly ignored the twinge of regret he felt at the thought.

  


 

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

  
“You just can’t resist playing with every form of transportation you can lay your hands on, can you?”

“Oh, shut up and drink your champagne,” Sheppard retorted good-naturedly.  The sun was dipping into the ocean beyond San Francisco Bay as they sailed serenely over the water in the luxurious sailboat that had been waiting for them at the Pier 39 Marina.  Up in the bow, Teyla and Ronon sat very close together, sipping from long-stemmed champagne flutes filled with brown beer. 

“Hey,” Rodney said, pointing, “make sure you steer clear of Alcatraz.”

“Relax.  I know what I’m doing.”  He did, actually, to Rodney’s great surprise.  For about the fortieth time he caught himself admiring the effortless way Sheppard handled the craft.  Flushing, Rodney yanked his gaze away from the sight of those long-fingered hands curled around the wheel.

“Where did you learn to sail?” Rodney asked, folding his arms and leaning against the mast.

“Summer camp,” Sheppard answered, and honestly, that was about as much as Rodney had been expecting.  The Colonel was a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in silences and smartassed smiles, especially when it came to his past.  And that was all right with Rodney most of the time, but somehow this vacation had tapped a hidden desire in him to know what made this man tick.

“I never went to summer camp,” Rodney offered.  “Too many allergens.”

Sheppard snorted, and they sailed on in silence for a few minutes before Sheppard asked, too casually, “So, you having a good time?”

Rodney looked over at him, waiting for him to turn his head from their course before answering.  “Yeah,” he replied softly, nodding.  “You were right.  This – ” he waved his glass to indicate Teyla, Ronon, the boat, all of it “ – was a good idea.”

“Wow,” Sheppard drawled, sticking out his lower lip.  Rodney McKay admitting I was right about something – now you’ve made _my _vacation.”

Rodney frowned, about five missing pieces suddenly sliding into place.  “The Air Force isn’t paying for this trip, is it?”

Sheppard’s face went instantly blank.  “What makes you say that?”

“Jesus,” Rodney breathed, “this has to be costing you – ”  He trailed off as he added up numbers in his head.  If they kept on the way they were going, it could easily reach ten to twelve thousand for just the four days.

Sheppard shrugged off Rodney’s concern.  “It’s not like I’ve been spending a lot of my pay the last couple of years, and before that I was eleven months in Antarctica.  When you add in the tax benefits I get for being overseas, since as far as the IRS is concerned we’re all stationed in – ”

“That’s not the point,” Rodney interrupted.

“Then what is?” Sheppard asked, irritation finally beginning to reveal itself.

Rodney stepped forward and lowered his voice.  “I should pay half.”

Sheppard shook his head, that charming half-smile forming on his face.  “Rodney…”

“I want to,” Rodney said quietly.  “Please.”

Sheppard looked up, pinning Rodney with his gaze.  “And I want to do this for all of you,” he said just as quietly.  “Let me.”

Rodney sucked in a breath, stunned.  There were times when Sheppard had surprised him before, but this – this knocked him sideways.  Rodney knew that the money didn’t mean anything to Sheppard, but the fact that he’d been included in Sheppard’s extremely generous gift to his team meant a hell of a lot to Rodney. 

Not that he could ever tell Sheppard that directly. 

“Well,” he said finally.  “As long as you let me – reciprocate in some way.”

Sheppard smiled – a real one this time – and turned his face toward the setting sun.  “I’ll look forward to it,” he said.

  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

The next day passed in a whirlwind of activity, including a visit to the Aquarium of the Bay (where Ronon had far too much fun with the touch tanks), a hot air balloon tour of the city and a leisurely afternoon stroll through Chinatown, where Teyla delighted in buying exotic spices and foods to take home as gifts.  It occurred to Rodney it was a damned good thing there was no Customs for them to pass through on their way back; the paperwork alone would have taken a week to fill out, and the inspection would have doubtless involved full body cavity searches.

In the evening they found an Italian restaurant whose cannoli nearly brought Rodney to orgasm, then climbed the trail up to Tank Hill, which had been pointed out to them by the balloon operator. 

“It didn’t – seem – this – steep – from the – air,” Rodney puffed as he propelled his pasta-filled body up the incline.

A warm hand wrapped around his arm, supporting him when he stumbled.  “Look at it this way,” Sheppard said cheerfully.  “At least you’ll have great legs by the end of this vacation.”

“Oh, yes, just what I’ve always wanted, a pair of muscular thighs,” Rodney sighed, slowing as they reached the top.  “God, I hope this is worth it.”

“I’d say it is,” Sheppard murmured, awe coloring his voice.

Rodney looked up and found the city lying at their feet, the blaze of a million lights spilling and tumbling into the utter blackness of the bay. 

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“Wow,” he said softly.

“Yeah, wow,” Sheppard agreed.  Rodney looked at him and they shared a grin that could best be described as dorky.  When Rodney turned to share the moment with Teyla and Ronon, however, he found they were already wrapped up in one another’s arms and kissing like teenagers.

“At least they’re not distracted by the scenery,” Rodney muttered, turning back to Sheppard.  What he saw in Sheppard’s eyes knocked him flat.  The light from the streetlamps might be faint and Rodney might suck at interpersonal relationships, but he recognized that look.  So, apparently, did his body, because his skin prickled in anticipation, his palms broke out in a light sweat, and his breathing grew fast and shallow.  Interesting that terror and arousal provoked many of the same physiological reactions.

Unfortunately, instead of taking advantage of the moment, all he could manage to do was stand there frozen and sweating and think, _Holy shit, really? _ Equally unfortunately, it soon became apparent that Sheppard had been waiting for some kind of sign from him, and when none was forthcoming because, well, frozen, he looked away, returning to his contemplation of San Francisco’s nighttime beauty.  And at this moment, Rodney wanted nothing more than to turn back time approximately ten seconds, but they hadn’t found the Ancient device that could do that yet, so he was left standing on top of a hill in San Francisco listening to the sounds of the city below them and the occasional soft sigh from Teyla.

If anyone ever found out he’d been too stupid to take John Sheppard up on that look, his reputation as a genius was shot to hell.

  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

Rodney held open the door to the bed and breakfast and smiled at his teammates pleasantly.  “After you.”

Every one of them eyed him suspiciously as they walked past.  “What did you do?” Sheppard demanded. 

“What?  Who?  Who says I did anything?” Rodney babbled.  God, he was _awful _at subterfuge.  He’d managed to run out, bribe the limo driver and run back in before any of the others had seen him, and now he was going to blow it all because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.  But thankfully Sheppard didn’t push the matter, just pursed his lips thoughtfully before heading out the door and into the warm California morning.

However, when they turned off the freeway well ahead of schedule, Sheppard did push the matter.  “We’re not headed to Napa, are we?”

“Nope,” Rodney said, smiling smugly.  He’d been working on his resolve for the past twenty minutes, and was now confident he couldn’t be broken.

Well.  Mostly.

“Rodney,” Sheppard said slowly, “what’s going on?”

Rodney held up his hands.  “Look, the wine tour would have been great, don’t get me wrong.”  He could feel Ronon and Teyla’s eyes on him and felt his cheeks warm.  “But you’ve been doing everything to make this the perfect vacation for us, and I just wanted to spend our last day doing something – well, something _you’d _enjoy.”

“Rodney,” Sheppard said again, and this time there was a warning in his voice, “where are we going?”

Rodney swallowed, crossed his arms and raised his chin defiantly.  “You’ll see.”

Sheppard opened his mouth, but before he could speak (or, more likely, yell), Teyla said softly, “John.  I think Rodney’s idea is an excellent one.  I look forward to experiencing an Earth activity you would enjoy, and I am sure Ronon does as well.”  She shot Ronon an expectant look.

“Yeah,” Ronon grunted, right on cue.  “Sure would.”  Rodney avoided rolling his eyes, since these people _were _backing him up and Ronon would probably kick the shit out of him, but dear Lord, could his leash be any shorter?

Sheppard tried to stare Teyla down for all of five seconds before he gave that up as a lost cause and went back to glaring at Rodney.  Finally he sank back into the leather seat and sighed. 

“You’re gonna love it,” Rodney assured him, praying to God it would turn out to be true.

Sheppard pursed his lips.  “Let the good times roll.”

  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

Rodney didn’t think he’d breathed in the last five minutes.  If Sheppard didn’t say something soon, he was going to turn blue and keel over right here on the asphalt.

“Six Flags,” Sheppard murmured under his breath.  Rodney couldn’t tell if he sounded angry or stunned, and those damned aviator sunglasses were hiding his eyes.

“Yeah,” Rodney said.  “I, uh, I checked the website; they have a Ferris wheel, of course, and one of only three suspended spiraling impulse coasters in the world, and there’s a – ”

“Rodney.”  Sheppard’s voice brought him up short, and Rodney turned toward him with trepidation.  But there was no anger or censure on the part of Sheppard’s face he could see. 

“Thanks,” Sheppard said simply, nodding at the Six Flags sign.  “This is – this is great.”

Rodney smiled and ducked his head.  “I’ll go buy the passes.  Wait here.”

  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

What happened was this: 

They rode just about every ride in the park, except for the suspended spiraling impulse coaster, which Ronon was actually _too tall_ to ride (and there was a need to display team solidarity in the face of this injustice), and the motion simulator that proclaimed itself to be an “out of this world” journey (“Been there, done that,” Sheppard summarized). 

They went to see the marine world show, where Teyla was kissed by four thousand pounds of killer whale, and Rodney did _not _ask her if it was anything like kissing Ronon. 

They spent an hour riding the Looney Tunes kiddie rides until Ronon got sick on Pepe Le Pew’s Rafts of Romance, and there was just no way Rodney was not going to keep that little tidbit on hand if he ever needed leverage with the big guy.

Rodney bought Sheppard a humungous ball of cotton candy and then proceeded to eat just under half of it.

Ronon won a prize on the midway for shooting every tin can that was available to be shot, and a couple that weren’t.  When the stuffed animal turned out to be too unwieldy to carry around, he gave it to a small girl whose father probably cursed them soundly after they left.

At the end of the afternoon, when they were all exhausted and footsore, they limped over to the ride they’d saved for last by mutual unspoken agreement. 

“Somehow calling an amusement park ride ‘Round the World’ seems – well, inappropriate, doesn’t it?” Rodney asked as they began to rise into the air just ahead of Teyla and Ronon.  “I mean, imagine the kinky name could they come up with for the bumper cars if they tried.”

“Quit sullying my childhood,” Sheppard scolded, but Rodney could tell he was biting back a laugh.

“Sorry, sorry,” Rodney said, raising his hands in a placating gesture.  When Sheppard relaxed on the seat, Rodney took a deep breath before settling his arm across the back of the bench.  Neither of them said anything about it, so Rodney figured he was safe.

The next time around they ground to a halt at the wheel’s highest point.  Rodney looked down and saw that – surprise, surprise – Ronon and Teyla were necking again.  “God, don’t they ever quit?” he huffed.  “I mean, the man puked on a teacup ride.  You’d think that would put a damper on the romance.”

“You got something against romance, Rodney?” Sheppard said, turning to him with an unreadable smile.

_And here we go, karma_, Rodney thought.  He was being handed yet another opportunity, on a silver platter yet, and this time he was not going to screw it up, nope, not him, he was going to seize the day, and if he kept thinking about it instead of doing it, he was going to _screw it up again_.

“No,” Rodney said, leaning closer and touching Sheppard’s t-shirt clad shoulder with his fingertips.  “As a matter of fact, I don’t.”  Sucking in a breath and gathering his courage, he raised his other hand and boldly splayed his fingers over Sheppard’s chest.  He could feel the chain for his dogtags and the springy resistance of dense hair through the thin material.  Pressing a little harder, he thought he could detect the beat of Sheppard’s heart, but that was probably just the vibration of the Ferris wheel’s engine.

“Rodney,” Sheppard breathed, startled and slightly awed, like he’d just made something mysterious light up.  Before he could say any more Rodney leaned forward –

– just as the wheel lurched into motion again, causing Rodney lose his balance, squash his nose into Sheppard’s glasses and bang their foreheads together.

“Ow!” they exclaimed simultaneously, pulling back and rubbing at their respective faces.

“Okay, that wasn’t entirely successful,” Sheppard said after a few moments of excruciatingly awkward silence.

“I noticed,” Rodney snapped, still palpating his nose for bruises.  “I’m sorry, it’s my fault; I should have told you.  The universe hates me.”

One corner of Sheppard’s mouth twitched.  “Paranoid much, Rodney?”

Rodney shook his head.  “It’s not paranoia when you have this much corroborating evidence.”  The motion of the Ferris wheel caused the gondola to rock slightly; one of Rodney’s hands gripped the bar in front of them.

“Look, Rodney –  ” Sheppard began, and Rodney’s heart flipped in his chest, because he figured any speech that began with those two words couldn’t end well.

“Take off your sunglasses,” he blurted.

“What?” Sheppard asked, clearly taken aback.

“Take off those damned sunglasses.  I can’t tell what you’re thinking.”

Sheppard hesitated for a moment, then obeyed.   Rodney stared at him.

“Happy now?” Sheppard asked.

“I still can’t tell what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking a hundred different things,” Sheppard murmured.  “Some of them are contradictory.”

“That would explain it.”

“Look, Rodney – ”

Rodney closed his eyes.  ”You said that already, and it was mortifying enough the first time, so –”

“Would you open your eyes?”

Rodney opened his eyes. Sheppard looked at him and sighed.  “Look, I  - all I’m trying to say is that, I mean, maybe we should – “

Panic coursed through him then, because the moment was lost, and he was about to lose any potential moments that might occur in the future because Sheppard was about to tell him why this was a bad idea, and it was, it really was, for reasons too numerous to mention.  But goddammit, they were _safe _and they were _alive _and they were sitting together on a Ferris wheel in California and the fact that they’d arrived at this place after all the craziness they’d been through somehow made this necessary in a way that Rodney felt in his bones.  If he blew this last perfect chance, it would become one of those moments in his life he’d look back on later and _hate _himself for.

And so that was why before Sheppard could get out another word, Rodney cupped his jaw with one hand, leaned in and kissed him, a brief but searing press of lips that left him breathless and exhilarated and possibly more terrified than he’d ever been in his life.

He didn’t pull back far enough to look Sheppard in those enigmatic eyes, just kept his gaze glued to that mouth, and after an eternity it moved, shaping one repeated word – _okay, okay_ – and then Sheppard kissed him back.

The gondola rocked again; Sheppard’s hand shot out to span the curve of Rodney’s ribs while Rodney’s clutched at his hip, steadying them. When Rodney threaded his fingers into the hair at the back of Sheppard’s head, nails trailing over the scalp, Sheppard’s mouth opened on a groan and Rodney seized the day, sliding his tongue over that sinful lower lip before darting inside.  Sheppard braced his forearm across the small of Rodney’s back and hauled him close, then tilted his head and dove into Rodney’s mouth confidently, as if he’d known it for years instead of seconds.

Rodney wasn’t sure how long they spent kissing, only knew that it was long enough for his formidable intellect to be reduced to monosyllabic concepts such as _hot _and _wet _and _good _and _more_.  All good things must end, however, and eventually he registered that the Ferris wheel had come to a stop.  Pulling back with great reluctance, Rodney opened his eyes to the sight of the burly, sweating carnival operator standing over them, eyebrows raised expectantly. 

Fishing in his shirt pocket, Rodney dug out the plastic card and waved it at him.  “We have gold passes.  Also, we are galactic heroes.”

“Intergalactic heroes,” Sheppard corrected, the words slightly slurred by lust.

The carny didn’t even blink, just hooked a thumb in the general direction of Ronon and Teyla.  Rodney didn’t need to look behind him to know what _they _were doing.  “They intergalactic heroes too?” the carny asked.  Rodney nodded. 

“Why am I not surprised?” the carny muttered, rolling his eyes.  Then he pulled the lever, and they were rising into the air once more.

  


 

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

It was a miracle – or perhaps just a tribute to how horny both of them were – that they only had one argument on the way back to the bed and breakfast, and that was over the eternal question:  _your place or mine?_  Rodney had been adamantly against using Sheppard’s room, because he did not want his first sexual encounter with John Sheppard to take place under a huge pink canopy. 

(“_Rose_,” Sheppard had insisted.  “Get it right.”)

His own bed, Rodney argued, had no canopy, and even if it did it would be a tasteful shade of blue.  Sheppard had then launched into a lengthy argument revolving around the fact that his room also had a bathroom as big as Rodney’s bedroom, featuring a large clawfoot tub that would easily accommodate both of them.  This initially had not impressed Rodney.

(“Do you know how many accidents happen in the bathroom?  With the luck I’ve been having lately, I could slip and break a hip.”

“What are you, ninety?  We’ll practice safe tub sex, I promise.”)

But eventually Sheppard had had his way, because he had then proceeded to describe in great detail all the possible carnal acts that could be performed by two consenting adults in an oversized bathtub, and this had outweighed the possibility for psychosexual scarring caused by the pink – rose – canopy.

“Nnggghh.  Okay, lift up, lift –”

“I _am _lifting.”

“You’re just – oh, my, that’s, um, that’s really kind of spectacular – ”

“Rodney, fuck – ”

“I’d like to, believe me, but first there need to be _fewer clothes_ –”

Rodney sat up, triumphantly yanking off Sheppard’s left sock.  “Gotcha, you – ” Then he looked down and his mouth promptly went dry, because wow, Sheppard was naked.  Completely naked, which arguably wasn’t the main goal here, but nevertheless it still deserved its own special moment of contemplation.

Sheppard squirmed against the sheets, and Rodney frowned.  “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No, Rodney,” Sheppard drawled, “I’m perfectly comfortable with having people stare at my dick for a minute and a half.”

“I wasn’t staring at your – !” Rodney exclaimed, gesturing wildly at various parts of Sheppard’s anatomy.  “I was staring at your – at your everything!”

One corner of Sheppard’s mouth jerked up almost shyly.  “My ‘everything’?”

“God,” Rodney said fervently, closing his eyes, “please don’t tell me that’s a song by Air Supply.”

Sheppard chuckled low in his throat.  “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t admit it.”  He tugged on Rodney’s hand.  “Hey.”  Rodney opened his eyes to find Sheppard gazing up at him with a heavy-lidded look that may have melted Rodney’s spleen. 

What the hell, it wasn’t as though he needed one of those. 

Another tug.  “C’mere, will you?”

Immediately sensing the potential, Rodney leaned down, bracing himself with his hands on either side of Sheppard’s body.  “This good?” he asked, holding himself purposely out of kissing range.

Sheppard pretended to think about it.  “Maybe a little closer.” 

Rodney lowered himself slowly, sinking between Sheppard’s legs as Sheppard obligingly spread them to accommodate him. 

“Closer.” 

Rodney darted lower, delivering a swift peck to Sheppard’s mouth before pulling away.

Sheppard’s eyes darkened dangerously, and that was the only warning Rodney got before he wrapped one arm around Rodney’s neck and both legs around Rodney’s ass and rolled them both.  The next thing Rodney knew, he was flat on his back and staring up at acres of rose canopy.

Okay, he was definitely going to need therapy for this, because he’d never been more turned on in his entire life than he was right now.

“Who would’ve thought you could be such a fucking tease?” Sheppard growled, grinding down against him lewdly.

_Okay, make that right_ now, Rodney thought, arching up uselessly into the strong grip of Sheppard’s body. 

Sheppard buried his nose in Rodney’s neck and lightly bit the tendon rising from his shoulder.  “Oh, God,” Rodney breathed.

“Okay?” Sheppard murmured against his skin.

“Yes, yes, very okay, unbelievably so, in fact,” Rodney babbled, managing to wriggle just enough so that his dick was getting a little pressure from Sheppard’s right thigh.  He rolled his hips experimentally, and oh, _God, _yes, that was – that was –

Sheppard looked down, then treated him to a wicked grin that Rodney felt all the way to his balls.  “Uh-uh,” he scolded, moving his leg out of rubbing range.

Rodney might have whimpered.  Maybe. 

“What’s the matter, Rodney?” Sheppard asked.  “You never heard of foreplay?”

Rodney licked his lips; when he noticed Sheppard’s eyes followed the movement of his tongue, he did it again.  “I, uh, I was kind of hoping we could get to that l-later.”

Sheppard chuckled.  “I don’t know about you,” he said, batting his eyelashes, “but I want my first time to be special.”

“Oh, you – ” Rodney huffed, and then he halted, because he’d caught a flicker of something in Sheppard’s eyes, an indication that maybe he wasn’t being completely sarcastic.  While neither of them was a virgin (although Rodney hadn’t had sex in so long it almost felt that way), this was _their _first time, and Rodney supposed there was no reason they couldn’t put a little effort into it. 

Because, he realized suddenly, this _was _special.  More accurately, John Sheppard was special.  Rodney had never had a relationship he hadn’t managed to screw up somehow, and it struck him that he wanted that trend to end here, now, in this Victorian farce of a bed, in this small island of security and laughter in the uncertain sea that was their lives.

Sheppard’s eyebrows were raised expectantly, waiting for Rodney to finish.  Instead of speaking, Rodney let his hands complete his thought, let them rise up and touch Sheppard’s warm body, fingers tracing his ribs and gliding over the smooth skin of his back.  Sheppard’s eyes widened momentarily before he covered Rodney’s mouth with his own.

And then there were several screamingly good minutes, or possibly decades, of foreplay, in which Rodney kissed and groped and sucked and rubbed and bit and was kissed and groped and sucked and rubbed and bitten in return, and it finally occurred to him when they had their hands wrapped around one another's cocks that it was probably high time Rodney started calling him something other than Sheppard or Colonel. 

“John,” he said, feeling the shape of the word in his mouth, familiar and yet not.  Shep – no, John’s hips stilled and his head jerked up from where he’d been engaged in licking a nipple.

“Say that again,” John rasped, staring at Rodney with a sudden, ferocious intensity.

“J- John,” Rodney stuttered, because he’d never been the focus of that much attention from anyone, and being the focus of John Sheppard’s attention was more devastating than being at ground zero of a nuclear blast.  Provided with that kind of visual stimulation, his brain informed his body that it would be a fine idea to come _right now_, and it very obligingly did just that, groaning and shaking and flying apart while John watched him.

“Christ, Rodney, that was – ” John leaned down and kissed him, plunging his tongue into his mouth while he thrust powerfully into Rodney’s tight grip, and within seconds Rodney felt him shudder as he came, wetness striping Rodney’s fingers and belly.

As John courteously rolled onto the mattress beside him, it occurred to Rodney that this had turned out to be a much better vacation than any of the ones he’d considered, and not only because you couldn’t get decent chocolate martinis in Tibet or real Southern fried chicken in Rome.

  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“So why San Francisco?”

John turned off the taps and settled back against Rodney’s chest until the water was lapping at his collarbone.  “Why not?”

Rodney resisted the urge to flick his finger against the side of John’s skull.  “There must have been a reason.”

Sighing, John rested his head against Rodney’s shoulder.  “It’s one of the more interesting cities that doesn’t require a phrase book to visit, and I’ve been here a few times so I know it fairly well.  I thought Ronon and Teyla would enjoy some of things I pl – ” John cut himself off before he could finish the word.

“Ha!” Rodney crowed.

John stiffened.  “What?”

“I knew you had more to do with planning this trip than you let on!”

“Okay,” John admitted.  “I might have exchanged a couple of e-mails back and forth.”

Rodney frowned.  “Why didn’t you just say so in the first place?”

Rodney felt John’s shoulders lift.  “I wasn’t sure if you’d like the ideas I came up with.”

That only made him even more confused.  “When you say ‘you’, do you mean ‘Ronon, Teyla and me’-you or just ‘me-you’?”

John sat up and craned his neck around to look at him.   Rodney sighed.  “Well?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but just you-you.  I knew Ronon and Teyla were basically looking for an excuse for some alone time, and let’s face it:  they’re pretty happy about spending a few days anyplace where there aren’t any Wraith.”

“Not to mention anyplace with a king-sized bed and a fridge for cold beer,” Rodney muttered.

“Will you get off that already?”

Rodney shook his head, still puzzled.  “But why would you be worried I wouldn’t like your ideas?”

John shot him an incredulous look.  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this about yourself, Rodney, but you can sometimes be a little judgmental of other people’s ideas.”

“Oh, please, and you’re not?  Besides, when has that ever stopped you?”

“Well, maybe it’s never been this important before,” John snapped. 

Rodney stared at him, gape-mouthed.  “Are you saying you were trying to – ”  A slow grin began to spread over his face, gaining in intensity as the realization walloped him between the eyes.  “That – that you were trying to _impress _me?”

John’s face twisted.  “Maybe a little?”

The grin was now threatening to split Rodney’s face in half.  John groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face.  “God, please kill me now,” he moaned.

Rodney’s grin faded.  “What?  Why?”

“You’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?”

Rodney’s mouth turned up again.  “Maybe a little?” he admitted.  “I mean, it’s one thing to be invited on a vacation, but to actually be _wooed_…now, that’s worthy of a little gloating, don’t you think?” 

John shifted around, turning in the bath until he was on his knees facing Rodney, and then he braced his hands on the edges of the tub and leaned forward.  “_Rod_ney,” he drawled, smile turning evil, and oh, God, there was just no way a man of Rodney’s advancing years should be able to get hard again this quickly.

“Y-yes?”

John bit Rodney’s chin, then licked a trail along the curve of his jaw.  “Are you impressed?”

“Um,” Rodney said, because John was now sucking on his Adam’s apple, and he had momentarily forgotten how to speak English.  “Pretty impressed, yes.”  He reached under the water and found that John was pretty impressed, too.

“Well, that’s – ” A firm stroke pulled a soft gasp out of him “ – that’s good.  So you think we can be – oh, yeah – mutually impressed?”

Rodney turned his head and grinned into John’s half-open mouth.  “I think that can be arranged.”

A few minutes later, before Rodney’s brain melted completely, he said, “John?”

“Yeah?”

“Best.  Vacation.  Ever.”

And that was when Rodney found out that trying to kiss John while he laughed was definitely one of those things that was worth the effort.

**Author's Note:**

> First published September, 2006 (zine) / August, 2007 (web)
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>  
> 
> Some of the places visited in the story are based on actual Bay area locations, though I did take some liberties. I'm sure the lobby of the Archbishop's Mansion Bed and Breakfast in no way resembles a Victorian brothel; however, their rooms are named after operas, and I'm betting the clawfoot tub in the Carmen room would fit John and Rodney just fine. And the out-of-this-world ride the team passes on at Six Flags is the Stargate SG-3000.


End file.
